


Family Ties

by Pernilla_Writes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breeding, Character Bashing, Feral Behavior, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Lambert (The Witcher), Gore, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Polyamory, Trials, Vesemir is Tired, Witcher Trials, Witcher secrets, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Bashing, feral all of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26092090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pernilla_Writes/pseuds/Pernilla_Writes
Summary: Jaskier returns to Oxenfurt after the argument with Geralt, he needs to get himself together and the academy had always been a safe place for him, but a chance encounter with some Witchers will change his life, dangers lie in the shadows for him, but there are many ready to keep him safe at all costs.From chapter 2:In the semi darkness of the city he looked- normal; warm skin and warmer eyes, slitted just like any other Witcher, he had taken his hood off, his hair was red and curly, untamed, his skin full of freckles, and he was smiling, dangerously sharp teeth, sharper than Geralt’s, on full display.“My name is Aiden, from the cat school.” He introduced himself, still way too cheerful for one of his kind. “Don’t be afraid, Lambert here is a friend of Geralt, from the wolf school. We just wanted to have a chat.”
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Coën/Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, also Aiden in that mix couldn't find him in the tags
Comments: 45
Kudos: 399





	1. Expert on his kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Symbolic_Deviant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symbolic_Deviant/gifts).



> This work is a commission I finally decided to post, it's gonna be long and more than half is written already and new chapters will be posted weekly on mondays, if you want to thank someone for this fic thank @SharkFaceOhHaHa on twitter! Enjoy!

The university halls were desolate, the marble floor clicking with every step of his heeled shoes, the students usually found loitering around were attending their classes, and professor Julien Alfred Pankratz Du Lettenhove was heading to the dean’s office on an urgent call that had disrupted a particularly productive history class, his second favourite subject when he himself was a student.

Jaskier sighed and resigned himself to possibly another lecture of what was an appropriate lesson subject and what was ‘unacceptable and, frankly, heretical discourse’. His classes were loved by his students and detested by the faculty. All of his colleagues were of noble birth, not unlike him, and had a particular distaste for anything diverting from human, very much unlike him.

He stopped in front of a massive wooden door, carved intricately with scenes of nature and myths. He had often found himself in front of that door as a student, both because of his general misbehaviour and his accomplishments, entering the imposing office as part of the faculty was a different experience but always carried a sense of foreboding with it.

Inside the office there was a man: his large frame barely contained by the chair he was sitting on, his broad back was turned to the door, two swords leaned on the desk right in front of him.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat.

It had been almost a year and the pain was still burning in Jaskier’s chest, every time he saw white hair, a brooding figure in a tavern or heard a rough voice his heart tightened and he felt abandoned, completely alone. He could feel the weight of each step he had taken down that damn mountain on his shoulders.

But then, the witcher turned towards him.

His face was badly disfigured by ugly, deep scars that ran from cheek to mouth, warping his lips into a sneer, his hair was dark, his medallion just like Geralt’s.

“Finally, Professor Du Lettenhove, we were waiting for you.” The dean stood up, her voice laced with terror but still surprisingly steady. Her pale face looked white as chalk as she walked towards him from behind the desk, her expression one of relief as she put some distance between the witcher and herself.

“We thought that since you were such a respected expert on his... kind, you know, with all your travels and whatnot, it would be wiser to have you deal- inform our guest of the contract and settle on a reward. Oh, and of course pay him.”She walked to the entrance without pause, clearly not wanting to give Jaskier any time to refuse, and closed the heavy door behind her with a loud thud, leaving the bard and the Witcher alone.

Jaskier turned towards the Witcher who was still looking at the door with barely concealed irritation, and sighed. “Charming woman, that one. She’s been working in this university since well before I enrolled as a student.”

He gave the Witcher a small smile and offered him his hand. “Professor Du Lettenhove, also known as Jaskier. A pleasure to meet you.”

The Witcher looked at him with his cat-like eyes and snorted a quick laugh. “I know exactly who you are, Geralt talked about you, came back every winter smelling exactly like you too.” He said, shaking his head in disbelief. “The Continent really is small. I’m Eskel, I grew up with Geralt.”

The two shook hands, and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel bitterness in his chest. Geralt had talked to his brothers about him?

“So, this contract the woman was talking about...”Eskel looked at some papers on the desk and Jaskier followed his gaze.

“Oh, that. Well, Oxenfurt is built on an island, you know what that means.” He said in mock joviality as he looked over the notice Eskel had brought with him, the paper torn at the top where the Witcher had ripped it from its board.

“Drowners.” Eskel said with a long-suffering sigh.

“Yes, drowners. Travelling with a Witcher I have seen first-hand how the fucking things seem to be everywhere there is even only a puddle.” He said shaking his head. “And how gross they are.”

He looked at Eskel.

“So, reward. What do you prefer? Just a whole sum or a price per head?” He asked, he was familiar with the process of settling on a reward with a Witcher, having seen Geralt bargain countless times with nobles and plebes alike.

“Depends, how much would it be per head?” Eskel asked, looking at him intensely with those incredible eyes of his, just like Geralt’s.

“... I can probably do twenty crowns. I don’t think I could justify more...” He looked down at the coin pouch that the dean had left him to pay the man. “Or... I could just give you three hundred crowns and we could call it a day. I honestly don’t think you’ll find more than ten down there.” He said, shrugging.

The Witcher seemed to consider his options. His hand went up to scratch at his scar, his nails bitten and broken from hard work. “I’ll take the whole sum. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Jaskier nodded, huffing out a breath. “Well, that’s settled then. I’ll be in my quarters tonight, on the second floor of the faculty building. I’ll pay you half now and half when you get back. I’ll wait for you there.”

Eskel nodded and took his advance before retrieving his swords and strapping them to his back. He looked at Jaskier one last time.

“You know, Geralt can be an ass, but he’s also a good man. Whatever he did I can promise you he’s regretting it deeply.” Eskel said with a knowing look in his direction.

“How do you...?” _How did he know?_ Did Geralt tell him about the fight? Eskel just pointed at his nose and smirked, sharp fangs peeking through scarred lips.

“I have a good nose; you get sad when you hear his name.” And with that the Witcher went, not waiting for a reaction. —

Jaskier had expected the blood and guts on Eskel’s person after the hunt, but he had gotten unused to the smell of wet rot that seemed to accompany drowners anywhere they dwelled.

“There were thirteen.” Eskel deadpanned while dripping drowner viscera in front of Jaskier’s open door.

“I thought it would be less- come in. I knew this would be messy, I had a bath prepared for you.” The bard smiled and led the man into his university quarters. He had a house in the city proper but preferred to keep to the academy’s grounds as much as he could. The space was cosy, filled with books and instruments of all shapes and sizes: harps, pianos, mandolins, fiddles and, of course, an impressive collection of lutes. A fire was roaring near a plush reading chair and a paper screen sectioned off a wooden tub filled to the brim with warm water.

“Had it brought up sooner rather than later, I know you can warm it up.” He smiled. “Go, I’ll get the rest of the coin.” He walked off to retrieve the pouch and heard the familiar sounds of unbuckling armour and water being scalded with igni. It brought back memories of countless nights passed in small town inns, straw-stuffed beds and leaky roofs; he remembered being brought up in luxury, silken pillows stuffed with soft feathers and delicate, warm meals always ready at his call, the coldness of his family, the endless empty corridors and halls of his house.

Closing his eyes and banishing those thoughts he made his way to the dresser next to the tub where the Witcher had left his gear, and dropped the coin on it.

“Here you go, I hope it’s worth the walk into the sewers.” He said, turning to look at the Witcher without shame. Eskel was well-built, broader than Geralt and covered in even more scars. The water reached the Witcher’s chest, his hands were gripping the edge of the tub as he relaxed in it, eyes closed.

“I’ve been paid less for worse jobs. And I think you know you paid me more than the contract was worth.” Eskel said amiably, opening one eye to look at him. Jaskier shrugged.

“It’s the university’s money, not mine. If the dean wanted to spend less she could have discussed the contract herself.” Jaskier said and Eskel nodded, a slight frown on his face.

“She was scared shitless the moment she saw me. People like her, those born of high nobility, are terrified of Witchers. And my scars don’t help.” He sighed “I’m happy she called you, not for the extra coin, but because I finally had the opportunity to meet you. Your songs- they helped. People found a bit more respect for the profession, or at least they got curious enough to ask about my hunts, and they usually buy me a beer while doing so.”

Jaskier felt warmth blossom in his chest, and could not contain the smile that broke out on his face. “That’s amazing to hear. Geralt-” he stopped, for a moment he had felt as if things were back to before the mountain, but just his name made that thorny feeling come back around his heart like barbed wire.

“I told you, Geralt is an idiot. But he truly cares about you.” Eskel took some time to think. “He wasn’t the same after Blaviken, but the years he spent with you made him get his old self back, at least a bit. It was good. You were good for him, and he knew it.”

Eskel turned to look at Jaskier, and the bard noticed how beautiful the Witcher really was. The side of his face free from scarring was chiselled and sharp, and where his flesh was split he looked like a vase that had been repaired, gold poured into the cracks.Jaskier took a few tentative steps towards the tub.

“Let me help you clean that hair. Getting guts out is a nightmare.”

He said as took a stool, sitting behind the Witcher. His brown hair reached his shoulders and was in desperate need of a trim, but in that moment, a wash would have to suffice.

Jaskier reached for his least scented soap, a gift from one of his ofieri friends, made with lye and orange peel, and got to work.

The light from the fireplace and the candles around them left the room in semi-darkness. The simple motions of washing the bits and pieces left from the hunt out of Eskel’s hair were familiar and missed, Jaskier revelled in them.

“Mhn... you’re good at this.” The Witcher murmured as he sank further into the tub, more of his muscular thighs rising to the surface on the other side.

“Got a lot of practice.” He ran his fingers through the other’s straight hair, a deep rumble filled the room, coming from Eskel. The first time he had heard Geralt produce a similar sound it was just before dawn after a long hunt, the sky was brightening and the Witcher was standing with his horse, gently brushing out her mane, that purring sound had filled the cold morning air.

He felt proud, and warm, to have made Eskel so comfortable as to relax that way, and he allowed his hands to wander on the other’s nape, the hair washing turning into more of a massage.

“One of my sisters has the curliest hair... she got all manner of things stuck in it all the time, and more often than not I was the one getting everything sorted before our mother

could notice.” He recounted, smiling, and Eskel grunted a small laugh out, opening his cat eyes.

“Sounds much like my own childhood. Always getting this or that other kid, but especially one, out of trouble with the instructors.” Jaskier shook his head as he imagined a younger version of the Witcher before him, face whole, with a smaller Geralt, hair somehow already white, hiding behind him.

He gave a huff of amusement and watched as Eskel got the bucket for himself and rinsed his hair one last time, getting out of the tub unashamed, and Jaskier thought he didn’t ever need to worry about anyone seeing him naked, he looked like a god.

“I can smell the arousal on you, bard, but don’t have much time, I will have to leave for the night...” he looked out of one of his windows, the sun had completely disappeared from the horizon.

Jaskier looked up at him, still sitting on the small stool by the tub. He had known Witchers had very sensitive noses, he had always thought that Geralt had just been too polite to call him out on his obvious attraction, turns out he was right. And now his brother was before him, offering- something. Intimacy. Jaskier knew he wanted it, wanted to feel the closeness and warmth of sex, and some sick and twisted part of him knew this was as close as he would ever get to having Geralt.

He stood up abruptly, coming to a decision, and kneeling down before the man. Eskel was already half-hard. His cook was huge and absolutely beautiful, uncut and framed by curly hairs.

“Mhn... you want to suck me off, little bard? Use that pretty mouth for more than pretty words?” Eskel said, teasing him with an easy smile on his face, half grimace because of the scar. Jaskier could only nods enthusiastically and lick his lips in preparation. He moved his hand to the base, unable to get it around more than two thirds of the shaft, it was warm and heavy in his palm, precum already forming at the tip, Jaskier quickly kissed it away.

Eskel was looking like the cat who had gotten the cream, his expression one of cocky smugness, but still somewhat gentle. Jaskier licked a stripe up the cock in front of him, taking his time to appreciate the flavour and musk of the skin, heat pooled low in his stomach and his pants tented.

“You’re very good little bard.” Eskel said, his huge hand tracing patterns on his scalp before tugging at his hair, forcing his head to bend back. “Now, let me fuck that pretty mouth, what do you say?”

Jaskier almost shouted that yes, he could fuck his mouth, but he just whined low in his throat, neediness heavy in his scent, Eskel’s nostrils flared.

“Please- do it.”

The press of the slit on his lips was a blessing, the slide of it past them divine bliss. The stretch of his skin, his cheeks, as he tried to accommodate the huge intrusion in his mouth, was the best torture heaven had to offer.

His eyes watered, his jaw popped uncomfortably but not painfully. He could taste the Witcher in the back of his throat as he went down, Jaskier’s gag reflex long gone, thank the gods. The wonderful feeling of fullness and breathlessness was intoxicating, like incense in a dimly lit room, like drinking on an empty stomach.

He took more, his cheeks stained with tears, his lips drooling slightly, and the Witcher pulled out only to come back in, slamming all the way to the base, his dark curls pressed against the bard’s nose, still damp from the bath, his balls heavy near his chin, and Jaskier dared to put his hand on his throat. He could feel the skin around it bulge out, bend to accommodate something too big, and he delighted in that.

As soon as that was done Eskel began moving faster and faster, his hips snapping back and forth, his hold firm on the bard’s hair. Jaskier was moaning with his mouth full, barely able to breathe, nose runny and eyes wet.

Jaskier came in his pants, untouched, and he felt like a little boy again. Inexperienced and vulnerable, then Eskel pulled out and came on his face with a final grunt of satisfaction, his cum painting the other’s face in tick ropes of white, and Jaskier caught the last of it with his lips and tongue, suckling on the twitching cock.

“That was- something else, bard.” Eskel said, a lazy grin on his face. “Now I feel even worse that I can’t spend the night. I will one day, if you’ll have me.” He said, crouching down and caressing Jaskier’s cheek, smearing the cum on there everywhere.

“I would-” Jaskier gave a small cough, his throat was numb. “I would love to have you here for the night.” And it was true. He wanted the other, desperately, but pushing... he knew what that lead to now.

Eskel smiled again and helped him up before putting on his armour and strapping his swords back on. He took his coin and turned towards the human one last time.

He took Jaskier’s hand in his and kissed it before sniffing the air and smirking. “Now you smell of me.”

Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat, and Eskel just winked at him, and left, a promise to return in the air.


	2. Master Bard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the semi darkness of the city he looked- normal; warm skin and warmer eyes, slitted just like any other Witcher, he had taken his hood off, his hair was red and curly, untamed, his skin full of freckles, and he was smiling, dangerously sharp teeth, sharper than Geralt’s, on full display.
> 
> “My name is Aiden, from the cat school.” He introduced himself, still way too cheerful for one of his kind. “Don’t be afraid, Lambert here is a friend of Geralt, from the wolf school. We just wanted to have a chat.”

Oxenfurt’s summer festival was renowned for its liveliness, sweet pastries, and ale flowing freely for nights on end; but what really made it attract people from all over were its competitions; painters, poets, dancers, writers, and bards all competed and offered their art to the streets of the city, everyone walking the city steps hoped to catch a glimpse of a Van Rogh painting, witness the famed Zerrikenian dancers perform, or maybe hear the soft plucking of Jaskier’s lute, his songs and ballads famous enough to be heard in Kovir and Nilfgaard alike.

So Jaskier performed for whoever would listen to him; he was on a street, sat on a barrel in front of the Alchemy inn, many of his students came to hear him play outside the classroom, but their numbers were dwarfed by the travellers who stopped by. Since his retirement from nomadic life people had started to come to Oxenfurt to hear him play, and the festival was a great time to do so, the city alight with life.

He strummed the last notes to one of his most recent ballads, about a noble’s daughter and her passion for the sword, a bit of a raunchy song if taken the wrong way, but he enjoyed playing it nonetheless.

“What does my lovely audience want to hear next?”

He asked, a light smile on his face, and as voices grew, mingling and blurring into each other, asking for this or that composition, one voice rang clear past the crowd.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, if you please, master.”

Jaskier flinched, and he could see his students reacting similarly, knowing well by that point how he felt about being asked to play his songs about Geralt, or his travels. The stranger clearly did not.He had a cloak on, his hood lowered, sitting next to someone dressed in a very similar fashion, both figures had silver medallions hanging around their necks, glinting in the dying light of the day.

 _Shit_. Jaskier closed his eyes, his throat shut and his lips dried, the kind of reaction no amount of ale would help; he was done for the day.

He stepped off the barrel, and most of the crowd booed in protest, his students remained silent, as did the two Witchers; his steps were heavy on the cobblestone road, the coins he had in his lute case clinked, they weren’t worth that feeling of loneliness, the bitter end to a good night.

As he approached the entrance to the university a voice called out to him, the same clear voice as before.

“Master bard.”

He stopped, his heart was hammering and he was afraid, he had never been afraid of Witchers, not Geralt nor Eskel, but this one made him uneasy for some reason.

He turned and realised why.

In the semi darkness of the city he looked- normal; warm skin and warmer eyes, slitted just like any other Witcher, he had taken his hood off, his hair was red and curly, untamed, his skin full of freckles, and he was smiling, dangerously sharp teeth, sharper than Geralt’s, on full display.

“My name is Aiden, from the cat school.” He introduced himself, still way too cheerful for one of his kind. “Don’t be afraid, Lambert here is a friend of Geralt, from the wolf school. We just wanted to have a chat.”

The other figure lowered his own hood, looking at the other with a well-practiced frown, the kind that never truly left a face. He was broader than his companion, his head full of dark, short hair, a big nose was his most striking feature, having been broken several times judging by the crookedness of it.

“You mean to say that you wanted to talk to him.” Lambert was growling, his voice low and dangerous; Aiden didn’t seem to be threatened, and smiled even wider.

“Oh, don’t be like that! I know you’re also curious!” He said, turning back to Jaskier, excitement radiating off of him. “So, master bard, could we buy you a drink? Maybe a few rounds of cards?”

Jaskier was speechless, he wasn’t used to seeing a Witcher act like that, or seeing two of them in the same place if he had to be frank, not that he was an expert on Witcher behaviour, really.

But he had nothing to lose, and the time he had spent with the last Witcher he had met had been- pleasant. So he ushered them to his lodgings, few spoken words between them and a lot of chatter on Aiden’s part, was that how Geralt had felt while travelling with him?

It mattered little, since it would never happen again.

His door opened to the same living room where less than a month before he and Eskel had been together, the fire was still somewhat alive in the hearth, just a few embers to warm the air, a low table was littered with papers that spilled all over his sofa, his students had turned in a big assignment just before the start of the festival, and he was still grading each and every manuscript, the job felt endless.

“Oh, this is so homey! So many books and instruments, just as I expected! Isn’t it pretty, Lambert?” Aiden asked the other Witcher, talking excitedly as Jaskier piled the papers into two stacks and moved them to his library to be looked at later.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” Was Lambert’s dry answer as he sniffed the room, trying to look inconspicuous. Jaskier smiled, that was more like the Witchers he had met so far.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” Jaskier asked, his mother’s strict voice commanding the back of his head. Politeness, entertain guests, make them feel at home.

“Don’t even think about it! We got the booze, least we can do!” Was Aiden’s answer as he got three bottles of vodka out of his pack. “Couple of contracts back the village was short of half the reward, they gave me five bottles of this killer vodka instead. Me and Lambert already had a bottle each!”

Jaskier nodded, surprised. The gesture was nice, considerate to say the very least.

“Don’t get your hopes up, bard, it’s as good as paint stripper.” Lambert grumbled as he sat on the now clean sofa, looking around the room, still smelling the air. Jaskier laughed and shrugged, taking three shot glasses from the cabinet.

“I had worse, I’m quite sure. And I always appreciate a gift.” He smiled and nodded towards Aiden.“Thank you.”

The red haired Witcher smiled wide, and jumped up and down happily before laying the bottles on the table and sitting right next to Lambert, shaking his shoulder with his hands, the wolf Witcher barely moved.

“I like him Lambert! I like him a lot!”Jaskier felt himself flush red at those words, said so openly and unashamedly.

“You do?” Lambert turned and looked at Jaskier as if looking into his soul, and the bard squirmed in his seat, the gaze was heavy and he felt- scrutinised, evaluated. He felt like when he was eighteen again, performing for his final exam in front of his mentor, and he was getting every note just the slightest bit wrong, the vibration of the lute’s strings not reaching quite the right frequency.

But just like that time the eyes observing him seemed to catch something that pleased them, and Jaskier felt something warm developing inside of him, heavy and sluggish.

Lambert opened the vodka, and filled the three glasses to the brim, the clear liquid had a strong medicinal smell, like that of rubbing alcohol, and Jaskier silently gave a prayer for his liver.

As Aiden took his glass and raised it, Lambert and Jaskier mirrored him, a few drops spilled on the bard’s hand, dripping down to his wrist, and then the cat Witcher spoke.

“A toast, to this wonderful summer festival, the beautiful music in the air, and cheap vodka!”

A bubbling laugh that Jaskier didn’t know had been building up in his chest broke free, spilling from his lips just like the vodka had spilled from his glass, and he drank, the liquid burned his throat and warmed his stomach even more, a cosy fuzziness blurring the edge of his mind.

The Witchers had also had their drinks, and were looking at him with an almost predatory gaze. It was Lambert who spoke first, resting the glass on the table with a dry thud.

“So, Eskel was here recently.” He stated, looking towards the bathtub, empty in the corner of the room, then turned to Jaskier. “You and him had some fun.”

It took the bard a few moments to understand what the Witcher had just implied, and he felt himself blushing. “How- “

“You got some come on your carpet, it’s a very strong smell.” Aiden interrupted him. “Eskel and Lambert have known each other for a long time, they recognise each other’s scents.”

Lambert smirked and relaxed against the sofa, resting his back on it. “You also still smell of him, only vaguely, but I can scent it.”

Jaskier groaned and hid his face in his hands, closing his eyes in shame. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The carpet- I can understand. But me?” He asked, looking up at them. “I wash pretty regularly, and I use scented oils, how can you still pick up Eskel on me?”

Lambert sighed and poured himself a second drink. “Scents stick around, and Witchers have very sharp senses, especially wolf school Witchers.” He said, showing off his medallion with his free hand, dangling it for a moment.

Jaskier found himself nodding, trying desperately to get over the embarrassment, he was sure Witchers smelled a lot during the day, probably worse than the leftover scent of sex in a room or on a person.

He watched as Aiden smiled at him and poured more vodka to fill both his own and Jaskier’s glass, his movements were graceful and controlled. He knew very little about the school of the cat, from what Geralt had told him, and what little he did know wasn’t good. Botched mutations, psychological issues, human contracts; just a few titbits of information that put him on edge, and seeing that control in the other’s movements, the sharp fangs glinting in an unnatural smile- it made him shiver.

Or maybe it was just the vodka, it really was terrible.

“You smell scared. Geralt told me you never smell scared, at least not because of him.” Lambert comments, pupils blowing out to take in more light. “What has gotten you so frightened, exactly?”

Jaskier didn’t know how to answer, so he lowered his gaze to the carpet under his feet, trying to think of a half-truth to say.

“Why do you two travel together? As far as I knew Witchers try to hunt on their own.”

He settled on that. It was one of the things that had been bothering him since he had first seen the two cloaked figures in the street. Lambert looked away at that, _strange_ , but Aiden laughed and shook his head fondly.

“Me and Lambert, we’re invested in one another, you could say. I would like to see him safe in his travels, and he feels the same way towards me. Although I doubt he would ever say so.” The cat Witcher had a glint in his eyes, looking at his companion in delight and taking one of his arms, hugging it tightly to his chest. “He’s a big grump, but he’s kind.”

Jaskier looked at the two of them, so close, so clearly- how could he have not seen it before- in love. And he felt his heart break a little bit more.

He had tried to tell himself that maybe what Geralt always claimed was true, that Witchers really couldn’t love. He had known it wasn’t true, but to see it in the way Aiden smiled up at Lambert, eyes full of adoration, in how the wolf Witcher held the other’s hand just a little bit tighter, their fingers linked, that was torture.

“I’m happy for you then, I know that the path can be lonely for those like you. It’s good that you found each other.” The words were full of a deep ache; he could feel the thick sadness in the air without the need for Witcher senses. Lambert looked at him with pity in his eyes, and it was too much to think about, so Jaskier raised his glass.

“To journeys spent in good company.”

He said, and Aiden smiled his sharp smile. “To nights spent in good company.” He replied, and they drank.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how it happed, he wasn’t aware of the easy conversation, not quite, and he almost didn’t feel his skin as it prickled under the cold air, his clothes taken off by Aiden, but he knew he wanted it, he wanted to taste their love for a bit, be part of it, and so they also undressed, and they were beautiful.

Aiden was lean, his body didn’t have much scarring, but he did have a couple of bad marks that looked more like they had been left by blades rather than any kind of claws or fangs. Lambert was the opposite, he was big, covered in dark hair, his muscles made him broad and sturdy, and Jaskier wanted to cuddle into his warmth and feel the coolness of the silver medallion on his cheek as he nuzzled into his chest.

They kissed him, never on the lips, but on his neck and his chest, Aiden was in front of him, biting his nipples gently, the sharp teeth made Jaskier moan and breathe shallowly. Behind him Lambert kneaded at his back, hands getting lover with each stroke, eventually groping at the bard’s cheeks, spreading them open.

He could feel the sleek oil over his skin, Lambert’s fingers inside him, welcome and big, Aiden keept him distracted, biting gently into his shoulders, leaving marks on his chest and stomach.

When Lambert was done he left a trail of warm kisses up his back, leading up to his shoulder. He met Aiden’s lips there, and the two kissed, Jaskier between their bodies, feeling the Witchers’ warm skin on his own.

He felt weightless as they spread him on the sofa, Aiden right before his face, Lambert still behind him, the scent of lust was so strong even the human could smell it, heavy and musky, all over them and in the very air they breathed.

When Lambert pushed inside of him Jaskier couldn’t help a moan, he was big, and his hands on his hips felt like they were going to dig into him, sink into his soft flesh and rip him apart, and the bard would have let him, giving himself over to the beast gladly.

Aiden was more gentle, pushing himself against Jaskier’s lips, parting them and burying himself to the hilt in one swift motion, he wasn’t as big as Eskel or Lambert, but he tasted sweet, unnaturally so, Jaskier moaned at the taste and Aiden joined him in the sound, harmonising together in a filthy song that only the people in that room would ever hear.

It was a blur of pleasure and movement, of fullness and scents and sweat, the two Witchers gazed at each other, enamoured, as they took Jaskier together. Their bodies caging him in the sweetest cell he had ever been in.

He came with a choked off moan, and that seemed to set off the two Witchers, who came inside him.

Lambert’s spent was warm, spreading into his insides, marking him in his deepest places. Aiden was heavy and hot in his mouth, and Jaskier swallowed it all, the sweetness coated his mouth in a sticky sort of happiness.

He felt used, he felt well-fucked, mostly he felt alone. “Come on, let’s get him to bed.”

It was Aiden soft voice that spoke up, and Jaskier was weightless again, and he was so tired. The mattress was soft and the covers and pillows made him feel cradled.

“I don’t think he will mind- “

Aiden, again, and a rumbling sound from Lambert. Then two warm bodies beside his, caging him again.

“I told you I liked him.”

It was the last thing he heard before succumbing to the nothingness of sleep, in the morning his sheets were empty, his living room clean, except for two glasses and a half empty bottle of vodka on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on twitter @PernillaWrites for updates! Comments and kudos are my lifeblood ;)


	3. Some were silent, some fought back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a child Jaskier had been bitten by a viper, he had gone out to the gardens with one of his tutors, the bite had been quick and painful, his leg had swollen and his mouth had gone numb, the taste of blood and mint on his tongue, it was his teacher that had saved him, tied his limb and got him to the medic in time.
> 
> War felt like that. Sudden and silent, then a race against time, against the venom poisoning the cities, one by one they swelled up with golden suns on black flags, and Jaskier could swear he could taste that bloody mint once again.
> 
> The university wasn’t safe, students returned home, teachers gave up their positions, and Jaskier felt more exposed as the days went past, more like he should to leave too. But to where? He had no home other than the university, no place to go, no family to return to.
> 
> It finally happened in a brothel, amidst silken sheets and velvet pillows, soft thighs and red lips, a man in black leather armour and winged helmet asked to see him, he was looking for Geralt.

As a child Jaskier had been bitten by a viper, he had gone out to the gardens with one of his tutors, the bite had been quick and painful, his leg had swollen and his mouth had gone numb, the taste of blood and mint on his tongue, it was his teacher that had saved him, tied his limb and got him to the medic in time.

War felt like that. Sudden and silent, then a race against time, against the venom poisoning the cities, one by one they swelled up with golden suns on black flags, and Jaskier could swear he could taste that bloody mint once again.

The university wasn’t safe, students returned home, teachers gave up their positions, and Jaskier felt more exposed as the days went past, more like he should to leave too. But to where? He had no home other than the university, no place to go, no family to return to.

It finally happened in a brothel, amidst silken sheets and velvet pillows, soft thighs and red lips, a man in black leather armour and winged helmet asked to see him, he was looking for Geralt.

Pain flared at the mention of the Witcher, even as his own life was in danger, the probable nilfgaardian spy was looking at him carefully, knifes surely hidden beneath his armour, Jasker couldn’t help but think of those words, the last words Geralt had ever said to him, and muse that maybe Geralt would get his blessing.

He ran for it, of course, he never was a fighter, but he wasn’t a particularly good runner either, good enough to escape the ires of a couple of wronged husbands and wives, but not a trained military man.

The corridor was too long, his steps too short.

Soon the nilfgaardian had caught up with him, taking the bard to a nearby but isolated barn, a perfect place for someone to scream without being heard. Jaskier was hung from the ceiling, his arms bent back and a knife to his throat. But he would not speak, ever, he would never betray Geralt like that, he would rather die, and he was sure the Witcher would prefer that as well.

The blade was cold on his skin, the cuts were fire, his sweat ice down his back, and then a loud noise came from the door just behind them, and a huge cloaked figure stepped in. One hilt was visible behind his shoulder, the other was firmly grasped in his hand, the steel blade reflected the low light of the candles around them, but his eyes were those who were brightest in the dark, yellow and slitted, like a viper ready to attack.

There was a quick movement of the Witcher’s hand, and the faint light that had illuminated the old wood and rotting hay around them was snuffed out, darkness spread from every corner to blindfold the two humans, the Witcher was now the only one able to see.

Jaskier couldn’t see the fight, but he could hear the sound of steel slicing through flesh, panicked running and muffled pain, then a slit of world was bright again, the door of the barn thrown open carelessly by the spy, his face was bloody, an ugly scar would disfigure him for the rest of his life, and a portal opened around him, the man disappearing as if just a mirage, the black leather and winged helmet were the last Jaskier could see of him.

The Witcher turned around towards the bard, and another scarred face looked up at him, this one had been disfigured for a long time, but the edges of the wound still looked red and painful. Familiar.

“Eskel- “

Jaskier could only call for him before the pain in his arms choked him off, and the Witcher was beside him, lifting him up and taking the weight off his limbs, freeing him without effort, breaking chains as one unties a silk knot.

The bard couldn’t keep awake. He fainted, the pain too great to face consciously, and he felt safe, Eskel would take care of him, of that he was sure.

——

It was the sun, seeping through his closed eyes, prying his lashes open with its soft rays, that woke him.

The road was rough, he could tell by the rocking of the horse beneath him, the saddle only providing so much comfort, two strong arms were wrapped around his waist, keeping him still, the body behind him was warm and big.

“You’re finally awake.” Eskel said, his deep voice was prettier than any music Jaskier could compose in that moment. “It’s been almost twelve hours.”

He informed him as they kept riding and Jaskier had just started truly stirring up from his slumber.

“Where- what...?” Was the best the poet could articulate, his lips felt dry and his tongue was like dough, big and uncomfortable in his mouth, his arms hurt as they hung limp, too sore to move.

“We’re on the path to a safe place, somewhere Nilfgaard won’t find you.” Eskel reassured him, the forest around them was green, lush with life, deafening in its sounds of nature and silent in those of men.

Jaskier was grateful for the escape, but heartbroken at the thought of everything he had left behind. His position at the university, his students, friends, his lute, the only place he had truly ever called home.

Except for Geralt’s side, for a while at least, but he had been clearly mistaken in that assumption.

Travelling with Eskel was a fairly silent affair, not necessarily because of the Witcher, Jaskier wasn’t feeling particularly chatty. The whole day was spent looking at their surroundings, spotting small animals walking along the invisible path Eskel seemed to follow amidst the trees, and occasionally munching on some food the Witcher produced from his pack.

When they finally camped for the night some of the feeling had gotten back into Jaskier’s arms, but he was still pretty useless- as he had always been- and Eskel ended up getting the fire going, pitching the tent and hunting alone. When he returned with two rabbits and a good amount of berries and mushrooms Jaskier felt extremely grateful, and he needed to know what he had done to deserve such kindness.

“You made the path a bit better, for me and my brothers. Your songs earned us more coin, humanised us. Since you’ve been singing of us life has been a bit easier.” Eskel told him, a soft smile almost unrecognisable beneath the thick scarring of his face. Jaskier felt his cheeks flush.

“Thank you. You saved my life. I should repay you, shouldn’t I?” Jaskier smiled, trying to steer the conversation away from his songs. “Maybe the law of- “

“No.”

Eskel’s voice cut his sentence like a blade, like he had cut that man’s face, and his eyes were steel and silver, cold and unfeeling.

“Don’t call the law of surprise, ever. I have already suffered for it.” He said, pointing to the scar on his face. ”Saving your life is payment for what you’ve done for my kind. That’s all.”

Jaskier nodded, he couldn’t help but remember the time they had passed together in his university quarters, the Witcher’s strong hands on his body, his eyes looking at him with kindness.

“I understand, thank you.” Jaskier said, looking down at his feet, he still felt like he hadn’t done enough, not to repay something like this. “Where are we going? Where is this safe place?” He asked instead, too much of a coward to face Eskel’s eyes again.

The Witcher looked up at the sky, Jaskier could swear that, in the silence of the night, he could feel each beat of the other’s heart, slow, impossibly precise and paced.

“Kaer Morhen. Where wolf school Witchers used to be trained.”And the poet was sure Eskel could actually hear Jaskier’s heart miss a beat, because-

Geralt had talked to him about Kaer Morhen, the Witcher fortress, mentioned it when preparing to go winter there, and Jaskier had searched the university’s archives, and found out about the siege, a genocide really, and something about the trials, a few, confused sentences that spoke of great pain and monstrous rituals, and one account of a witness, a friend of a sorcerer who had performed the mutations;

_“The children were brought to the chamber and undressed completely, then chained to an iron bed, some were silent, some fought back, but I could see the panic in all of their eyes. Artilius, my friend, was getting some concoctions ready, not too long after those same mysterious liquids were burning trough the children’s veins, and even those who had been silent screamed._

_It was chaos, I could smell burning flesh, I could see the children writhing so wildly in their restraints that their little bones were breaking and jutting out of their skin. The Witchers and Artilius looked unimpressed, as if it was routine, and it probably was for them._

_There were fifteen children at first, I imagine they ranged anywhere from four to six years of age, after that first dose of poison eleven remained._ ___There was another round of concoctions, then another one, much the same happened, but this time the remaining children sullied themselves, vomiting both bile and teeth, the small white things dropping to the ground, when Artilius pushed back one of the boy’s lips I could see sharper ones growing to replace the loss._

_The energy apparently completely abandoning them, their screams had first turned raspy, then broken, then had stopped, and the silence was somehow worse._ ___Blood came out of all of them, from their noses, mouths, and ears, and then only nine children remained._

_At that point I did not know how I was still able to be there, my stomach was gratefully empty, and my throat too dry to speak._ ___Artilius took some sort of needle then, and I knew what was going to happen before he inserted it in the boy’s eye._

_What happened next is easy to imagine. Seven tiny dead bodies were carried out, eight barely live ones remained inside, under observation._ ___I had to leave, I could not stand there anymore, watching those children either die or be turned into soulless monsters. I never talked to Artilius again after leaving that wretched place, but those screams will haunt me for the rest of my life.”_

Reading that had made Jaskier feel dirty, like he had violated some kind of unspoken pact between him and Geralt; the Witcher didn’t ask him about his family and Jaskier didn’t ask him about the trials, the only time the bard had given in to his curiosity Geralt had gone mute for three days, completely, he just- closed off.

If that written account had made Jaskier’s skin crawl, then he couldn’t imagine what going through the trial itself might be like, he didn’t want to at any rate, and Geralt had to go through it twice. He could only think of a young child, his hair curled and full of colour, his eyes already like a cat’s, being told that he had not suffered enough yet, that he had to do it again, to feel his blood melt his flesh once more.

The few days of travel that followed were gone in a blur, his shoulders still hurt and dark bruises had formed around his wrists, but slowly he regained mobility, and he tried not to think of what had happened, of where they were going or who he would find there.

The path was full of wild beasts and monsters alike, and they both fell to Eskel’s swords, both steel and silver. The climb up the mountain lasted two days, but seemed to never end, they passed fallen trees and boulders and cliffs, then a river, Eskel’s horse stepping into the freezing, clear water beside the Witcher, Jaskier riding, well above the current that looked like it would sweep him away.

Then there were skulls, bones peeking out of the ground, rusty swords, hammers and pitchforks, breadcrumbs on a path of destruction and pain, the siege.

Eskel did not seem to notice them, the jaws lined with sharp teeth, the small bones that still had to grow, but Jaskier saw, he would remember them for the rest of his life.

When the bard decided to allow his eyes to leave the ground it wasn’t the sky that greeted him; an impossibly high gate made of metal and stone, impenetrable walls that had looked like part of the mountain from below, ivy grown wild all over them, birds nested in the cracks, a deep moat ran around it, filled with water and mud, uncared for but still serving its purpose.

Jaskier’s ears filled with Eskel’s quick whistle, a pattern of long and short sounds left his lips, so loud and quick that no human could hope to replicate.

The gate raised open, a sturdy bridge was lowered to allow passage over the moat, and in they went, into the belly of the beast, the gate’s spikes hanging over his head looking remarkably like fangs, and then like a huge mouth they closed, leaving the bridge lowered, somehow Jaskier knew that was not a good sign.

An old man was waiting for them, his posture seemed relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, and if Jaskier knew anything about Witchers, he was ready to strike.

“Good to see you, Eskel.” The man said to the scarred Witcher as they got closer, the horse stopped and Jaskier slowly got off the saddle and on the ground, his eyes never leaving the old Witcher.

“Vesimir.” Eskel nodded in acknowledgment. “This is my guest for the winter, you must have heard his songs, he is the bard that travelled with Geralt for a while.”

Vesimir nodded, looking Jaskier up and down, like one would assess cattle before buying a new head for the herd.

“So I have, some of those tunes got stuck in my head for weeks.” His expression was one of calculated warmth, somehow icier than the frigid wind blowing on their skin.

“Thank you, and I hope I’m not imposing my presence here.” Jaskier could only think to say, the words sounded weak to his own ears.

“You’re not, as long as you help out during the winter you’ll be welcome.” Vesimir said, looking over Eskel. “Take him inside, I’ll take care of the horse and supplies. You’re the last to arrive, Lambert and Aiden are here, I don't think Coen will show up. Geralt arrived with the child a week ago.”

That seemed to be bad news, because Eskel’s body tensed. Jaskier knew Geralt would be in the keep, like every winter, but the child- could it be princess Cirilla? It had to be, after the fall of Cintra. It was good to know that at least she didn’t succumb to the nilfgaardian attack.

“Is he going to be difficult? Is that why you left the bridge down?” Eskel asked, a note of worry in his voice, Vesimir shrugged.

“I don’t care how Geralt feels about the bard’s presence, if it’s going to be last year all over again. He’s welcome here as your guest and as someone who has done good for our kind.” The Witcher’s tone was final, like he didn’t expect anyone to even attempt to challenge him, much less Geralt, and he didn’t bother to answer all of Eskel’s questions. “Take him in, if last year was any indication Lambert and Aiden will be happy to see him.”

Eskel only nodded, beckoning the bard to follow him, Jaskier took a moment to glance at Vesimir, thanking him with his eyes where his words were failing him, and hoped it was enough.

The keep looked desolate inside, like a memory of a place, high stone walls were crumbling and spider webs and dust seemed to cover everything in sight, the air was just as cold as it had been outside, with the only difference being the shelter from the wind. As they walked further inside the maze of corridors and rooms Jaskier felt like he was stepping in a dream, a place that was only supposed to exist in someone’s head, like those drawings of impossible stairs that lead up and down at that same time that were so popular in artistic circles.

They got closer to a wooden door, it looked heavy and somehow- warm, different from all the others, there was a subtle noise of chatter beyond it that died down the closer they got to it. As Eskel opened it a breath of scents reached Jaskier, bread and stew, roasted meat and potatoes, the particular smell of air that had been warmed by a fire.

Six viperine eyes stared at him, glowing and unblinking, there was the almost greenish tint of Aiden’s gaze, light and somehow distant at the same time, Lambert’s weary and defensive look, his pupils always trying to pick up as many details as possible, behind them a mind working tirelessly to think of what could possibly go wrong.

And then there was one last stare, half-hidden by white hair, impossibly cold and distant.

“What are you doing here?” It was a growl, barely distinguishable as words, completely inhuman.

And Jaskier’s heart sank because- what was he doing there? Hiding? Pretending to be safe? Because he was not safe, he was human- weak and scared and he was surrounded by predators, and they would kill him, one wrong word, one wrong action- no, what was he thinking, it wasn’t necessary, he had already fucked up, and Geralt would kill him-

“Stop it, you’re scaring him.”

It was Lambert who spoke up first, putting himself between Geralt and Jaskier, Eskel pushing the bard behind his back, out of the white wolf’s reach.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Geralt asked once more, standing up, the bard could not see him, but he could hear the chair he had been sitting on scrape against the floor. Aiden was beside him in a moment, taking his hand.

“Let me take you upstairs, let them sort this out on their own.” He said, as cheerfully as ever, his happiness was wrong and only scared Jaskier more.

“He’s here because he is my guest, and that’s that. Vesimir already approved of his presence.” If Geralt’s voice had been rumbling stone Eskel’s was thunder, powerful and menacing.

Jaskier somehow knew before it happened, the growls and monstrous sounds coming from their throats, the way their bodies moved- the first to strike was Geralt, he pushed Eskel to the ground, snarling in his face, the scarred Witcher took hold of the other’s jaw and shoulder, managing to switch their positions, and the human was terrified, more scared than when he was being tortured, because he had never seen a Witcher truly act like an animal.

“That’s enough.”

Vesimir’s booming voice rang in the small room from behind the poet, a hand gently pried him away from the action. “Eskel, take Jaskier to your room for now. Geralt, with me.”

Like before, his tone was one that did not allow for objections, one of someone that was aware of their power over others, Geralt gave one last growl before Eskel stood up and quickly walked beside Jaskier, taking him away from Aiden’s hold and the room that smelled of bread and home, through the infinite corridors full of cold sadness that would never truly fade away.

——

Eskel’s room was well furnished, full of chests and trinkets lining the many shelves on the tapestries covered walls. Intricate rugs concealed most of the floor and the bed looked big and comfortable; a quick igni gave light and warmth to a fireplace, in front of it a plush reading chair, old and worn.

“I’m sorry about Geralt.”

Eskel whispered, looking at the bard whose body was still shaking, his scent reeked of fear and anguish, acrid and distressing.

“Vesimir will talk to him, and then we’ll get you a proper room.” He said with a warped smile, it was hard to think that just minutes before he had been growling trough those same lips.

“I’ll give you some clean clothes and you’ll rest, the keep isn’t the right place to smell scared, not nowadays at least, so you have to calm down.” He looked at him apologetically, handing him a big shirt, it was white and soft with use. Jaskier forgot about shame and changed, he had already sucked the man off after all.

The shirt reached his mid-thigh, and was light and warm at the same time, and the Witcher gave an approving nod. “Now off to bed, you need respite and I have to talk with Geralt and Vesimir.”

He said, indicating the soft covers, Jaskier felt like a child as he climbed in and drowned in the cold linens, he must have shivered because a moment later Eskel’s coat was over him, still warm from being worn.

“I’ll wake you for dinner, now rest.”

And Jaskier did, he closed his eyes and exhaustion born from travel and fear took hold of him, his body was heavy, his thoughts slow and incoherent, and he slept, warmth slowly making its way inside of him.


	4. The crown and the scale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To say that the bard was relieved to enter the kitchen would be an understatement, he was still nervous about Geralt and the icy welcome he had received, but the warmth and light in the room was reassuring, the inviting smell of cooked meat and roasted potatoes made his mouth water.
> 
> Vesimir sat at the head of the table, Geralt looked like a white thundercloud ready to rain lightning and thunder sitting right next to the apparently calm older Witcher, Eskel sat opposite to Geralt, his eyes looked over Jaskier first and then his brother, brow creased with worry; there was an empty seat next to him, probably left for Lambert since Aiden was just beside it, an easy smile on his face, it was eerie as ever in the tense atmosphere.

“Dinner is ready.”

Lambert looked just about ready to murder someone with his glare and Jaskier, still groggy from sleep, felt more than a little threatened by it. He rubbed his eyes as he felt a cold patch of drool on the pillow and a weird aftertaste in his mouth- that was exactly why he hated taking naps, but he had been very tired and would have slept until morning if he hadn’t been woken up.

“Thank you for waking me up, my sweet Lambert.” He decided to tease, he didn’t know why Lambert was the one calling him instead of Eskel, it was his room he was staying in after all, but he pushed the thought aside as the grumbling Witcher gave him some clothes to put on.

“Keep the shirt you already have, just put on the coat and pants, be quick.” Lambert looked annoyed, more than usual anyway. Jaskier was sure it wasn’t a good sign, so he did as he was told, the clothes didn’t fit him properly but were warm and worn, something he appreciated from time to time, cosiness wasn’t a big part of a bard’s wardrobe.

Lambert took a torch from a stand on the wall and lit it with a flick of his fingers, his eyes reacting to the light immediately, Jaskier knew the other didn’t really need the light so he appreciated the thoughtful gesture without daring to mention it, he didn’t want Lambert to actually kill him.

The walk down the corridors was silent and unsettling, the Witcher’s steps were sure, those of a man walking in his childhood home, but the portion of corridor illuminated by the torch was the only one visible to Jaskier, the rest looked as if swallowed by darkness, unknown and ready to change at any time, turning into a maze of cold stone and dust.

To say that the bard was relieved to enter the kitchen would be an understatement, he was still nervous about Geralt and the icy welcome he had received, but the warmth and light in the room was reassuring, the inviting smell of cooked meat and roasted potatoes made his mouth water.

Vesimir sat at the head of the table, Geralt looked like a white thundercloud ready to rain lightning and thunder sitting right next to the apparently calm older Witcher, Eskel sat opposite to Geralt, his eyes looked over Jaskier first and then his brother, brow creased with worry; there was an empty seat next to him, probably left for Lambert since Aiden was just beside it, an easy smile on his face, it was eerie as ever in the tense atmosphere.

On the other side of the table, beside Geralt, there was the most peculiar guest, a little girl; her ashen locks were roughly cut and dirty, her clothes badly stitched together by an inexperienced hand, her skin was bruised all over and her lip was split, but she was smiling, healthy and strong, the bruises didn’t seem to bother her, nor the general disarray of her person.

Jaskier only realised who the kid was when she turned to Geralt with a question on her lips, princess Cirilla of Cintra.

The bard could only stare, his mouth agape, as Geralt’s hard stare softened for the child and hushed, warm tones escaped his lips. What Jaskier wouldn’t do to be the one getting such gentle attentions from Geralt. His chest tightened once more, and Lambert gave him a look before herding him to the seat opposite to Vesimir at the other end of the table before taking his place between Eskel and Aiden.

Before any words could be said someone entered the room, another Witcher, his eyes were like any other of his species, but bloodshot and irritated looking. That aside he was handsome and with a full beard covering his chin, he held a bottle in his hand in a sort of jovial way that seemed inconceivable in the keep, the closest thing Jaskier had seen to it was the all-consuming and unchanging happiness in Aiden’s sharp smile.

“Sorry for the delay, but since we now have the bard with us I thought I could get one of my spoils from last year! It’s a particularly good wine from Tuissant, I think we all deserve a good drink tonight, and the human shouldn’t drink your spirits, no offence Lambert.” He said while placing the wine at the centre of the table and sitting next to Ciri.

“None taken.” Lambert replied. “The booze I make is to get drunk, not enjoy.”

The weird Witcher shook his head fondly and looked at Jaskier. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Coën, from the school of the griffin.”

Jaskier recalled hearing the name when they first entered the keep and nodded, trying his best to smile. “I’m- “

“-Jaskier the bard.” Coën said for him. “I heard lots about you and made by you. I particularly like the song about the prince and the siren. A bit unrealistic, but very romantic.”

Jaskier was taken aback for a moment, but a smile bloomed on his face.

“Romantic? I always thought of it as a tragedy.” He said, feeling slightly more at ease.

“Well, that doesn’t mean it can’t be romantic. Maybe you could play it for us later, if it’s not too much to ask for.”

Jaskier nodded immediately but stopped, looking at the rest of the table and the other Witchers.

“Well, if no one minds...” he said timidly, shooting a side glance at Geralt who was looking down at his plate, it was the princess who spoke first.

“I would love to listen; it’s been a long time since I heard any music!” Her voice was clear and sweet, like a mountain spring cutting through a dense forest, a safe haven from the chaos and confusion around her.

“Then I shall play, for you, Coën and our kind hosts.” He said, trying really hard not to let the tears he felt behind his eyes overflow.

“And me please! I’m also a guest and a big fan of your voice, both in music and in- other scenarios.” Aiden said with a grin as Lambert elbowed his side, Geralt’s lip raised, showing his fangs, but no sounds came out of him.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll have a fine evening of wine and song, but first, let’s eat.” Said Vesimir in an effortless authoritative tone, Eskel nodded.

“It has been a long journey, and the food smells amazing.” He commented, taking a piece of meat and biting into it, the scarred part of his face following the broad motion awkwardly, Lambert smiled.

“You bet your ugly mug it tastes even better.”

So, Lambert had cooked, made sense he was the one who called him to eat then. Aiden offered him a plate of sliced meat and potatoes and he took it gratefully. The whole table fell into silence as they ate, and they ate a lot, filling themselves until sated. Only he and Ciri had different plates, his was a human-sized portion, his meat had been chosen because less raw than the bloody mess on the table; Ciri was eating something different altogether, a weird salad made up of unidentifiable leafy vegetables and mushrooms, in her cup a strong-smelling tea looked murky and uninviting. Jaskier decided not to comment on any of that.

By the time they had finished eating and clearing the table the wine had been opened and poured, Ciri was sitting on a bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, playing some sort of game with Coën that involved their hands and reflexes, Vesimir was sitting on a comfortable-looking chair in front of the fire, dozing lightly, Geralt stood leaning against the wall, looking down at his child. Lambert and Aiden were next to each other, still sitting at the table, shuffling their cards for a game, and Coën was looking at Jaskier expectantly.

The bard smiled.

“I left my lute on the horse when we arrived, I don’t know- “

“It’s in your room, I put it there.” Vesimir said. “I’ll take you there later, for now you can just sing, if you’d be so inclined.”

Jaskier nodded, trying not to let his relief at his instrument’s safety be too obvious.

“Well then, I’ll sing. The crown and the scale.” He said, giving a small bow, everyone was looking at him, he took a moment to clear his voice before starting.

“A boy in his spring

with a sword in hand

to his family he would bring

honour by fighting 'till the end.

His mother would weep

if only she saw him

falling ever deep

in a river of sin.

But alas dead she was

as cold as stone

white showed her bone

as in any corpse does.

He saw in the distance

a woman beautiful

gentler never was in existence

and he fell, as man most dutiful.

His love turned out

not quite human as he

when the people pointed it out

he took away their liberty.

The boy should have heeded

the warnings and the pleas

no longer he was helped

no matter the unease.

The first time they kissed

bloody was his fate

but happy he was

as the siren ate.”

He let the last words of his song fade as the Witchers stood, listening intently.

“Never heard that one before.” Cöen said, looking at Jaskier from his spot on the floor.

“Don’t sing it much.” The bard conceded. “It’s not my best work, and it’s quite a sad story, not much of an audience for that.”

The Witcher hummed as Ciri looked up at Jaskier, her eyes seeming to gaze in the distance.

“That’s the story of prince Brekka, isn’t it? The Koviri prince.” She piped up after some thought, Jaskier couldn’t help smiling at her.

“You know it too?” He asked, already knowing the answer but letting her take some of the attention off himself.

“Yes, the prince who fell for a siren and took her to his palace, but I don’t think he died. If I’m not wrong, he got married to her.”

Ah, there it was, a bright little thing, that one.

“You’re right, they married. A fate worse than death, in my opinion.” He said feigning solemnness, she laughed.

“It’s not! They lived happily ever after!” She said between giggles and the bard nodded.

“He did, the siren on the other hand- well, she was made to swim with her sisters in the sea, and now she was alone in a palace between the mountains, if you ask me I don’t think she was too happy.” Jaskier finished looking down at his hands, still a bit scuffed from the long journey.

No one else said a word for a while, and the tension was high. The first to leave was Geralt, taking the girl with himself, Vesimir shook his head and looked at him.

“He takes his responsibilities towards her very seriously, he wants to do right by her, so he trains her and she needs sleep to keep up her strength.”

Jaskier nodded in understanding and looked at the now empty spots on the ground and the wall, Geralt looked changed, but still the words hurt every time he thought of him.

_“If life could give me one blessing.”_

He had said those words with such a rage that Jaskier had truly been scared of him, of his gleaming teeth and eyes, so different from his own.

Eskel tapped his shoulder and got him out of his thinking, a kind expression on his face.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He said as Jaskier looked up at him and the bard couldn’t help but blush.

“I can find my own way, thank you.” He lied, there was no way he would find his way back and Eskel knew it.

“Sure, now let’s go.”

The walk to the upper floors was dark, only a few torches casting their light on the stone steps below them, no light is necessary to a Witcher, they probably had only put them there to make Ciri feel more at ease. The rooms were big enough, but cold in a way he hadn’t noticed before, lonely and almost ghostly in their emptiness.

“I know, this is no redanian palace, but we make do.” Eskel commented while stocking the fire, bright shards of fire and coals dancing around his hands as he gripped the burning logs and stacked them in a tent shape.

“Oh- no, it’s perfect, really.” Jaskier said while looking down at what once must have been a beautiful blanket filled with embroidery, he wondered who made it.

Eskel looked up and exhaled slowly, as if trying to bite back a laugh, he stood up and walked over to Jaskier.

“If you need anything just yell for me, I’ll hear you.”

The bard nodded as he looked down, feeling like a burden on the inhabitants of the keep.

“I wanted to truly thank you, for everything. If there is anything I can do to help- well, I’m not great with most tools, but I’m sure I could cook or- “

He stopped as he felt the press of scarred lips on his own, Eskel’s big, warm hands were on his hips, the Witcher’s nose found the crook of his neck and started to sniff and rub against it, his eyes closed in pleasure. Jaskier’s breaths came in quickly, small and breathy as he tried to keep calm in the tempest of sensations pouring down on him. He was hard, so was Eskel, the Witcher felt solid and big pressed against his body, and Jaskier wanted nothing more than to lose himself for a night, forget everything that was going irreparably wrong and focus on skin, sweat and sex, no matter how the act itself would eventually make things more complicated, it was fine now, he wanted it now, in the dark and silence of this room in a forgotten keep between the mountains, feeling his body shake.

:-:-:-:-:-:

He woke up alone, as usual, the coldness and stillness beside him was something he was familiar with, no one night stand wanted to stay for the morning, they didn’t want to wake up and wait to watch their lover snore, they had their own lives, so they left, went about their day, leaving only creases in the bed and memories in the heart.

As the covers slid down from his frame he looked around, his clothes were no longer scattered on the floor, Eskel had taken the time to tidy them and set them on a chair, Jaskier smiled at the gesture and got up to dress. The morning felt slow, odd; the castle whispered to him, the wood creaking and the wind blowing through deserted always. Most of the windows were barred, some had shutters. He wondered for a moment how harsh winter would get.

Well, probably better than death at the hands of some nilfgaardian soldier, although thinking of sharing space with Geralt again after everything felt just as painful, just less permanent. Eventually spring would come, and he would find some way to get back to Lettenhove, he saw no other chance other than that, back to mummy and daddy dearest.

He could almost hear them “we told you would be back.” That’s what they would say, their faces smug and disgusted at him.

He wasn’t looking forward to that.

Or to breakfast really, because Geralt would also probably be there, so hopefully Jaskier had woken up late enough to eat alone.

His small prayer was answered, the kitchen was empty, a bit of bread and blackberry jam left for him on the table, so he ate in silence, the bread was soft, although not warm, and the jam was sweet and tart at the same time. He wandered who had made it, he remembered the kitchen staff at his mother’s summer estate taking a whole day to make sure there were no pits in it.

His silent reflections were interrupted by Lambert walking in with a bloody deer carcass on his shoulder, he laid it on the table where Jaskier was eating in a fluid motion and looked at him, a blood splatter near his upper lip.

“Good morning.” Jaskier whispered timidly, looking up at him, and Lambert sniffed the air before sneering at him.

“Eskel? Really?”

Jaskier flushed as soon as he realised what Lambert was talking about, but before he could speak Lambert stopped him.

“I don’t care who you’re fucking, as long as things don’t get more awkward around here. Take a bath before coming down, we’re at the training grounds until lunch.” He said as he tied a rope around the deer’s legs.

“And I hope you like the jam.” He said as he hung the deer upside down over a large bucket “took me way too fucking long to make it.” He cut the animal’s throat and blood started slowly sipping out, dripping into the bucket underneath.

Jaskier just nodded as Lambert left for the training yard. He resolved to finish his breakfast quickly, a bit nauseated by the sight of the dead animal hanging in front of him, his antlers were already cut from his skull but the scent of death hadn’t yet taken over him, he had been freshly killed. Maybe for dinner.

He shuddered and got up, quickly washing his hands and deciding that the bath could wait, he was dirty but he had seen Geralt in way worse states.

The training yard was cold and windy, but the witchers didn’t seem to care, Lambert was facing off against Aiden, their styles so different, Lambert landed hard blows with his sword, pirouetting band stepping in and out of different positions, Aiden seemed almost to fly, his feet barely touched the ground as he spun circles around the wolf, his light but precise cuts were avoided each time, just as Lambert’s sword always hit the air where a second before the cat had stood.

Vesimir and Coën were off to the side, helping Ciri practice in a separated area, working on her hands and trying to shape them into specific positions, Geralt and Eskel were sparring half-heartedly, more interested in the girl’s education than in the sharp blades they kept swinging against each other without even watching.

Jaskier sighed and resigned himself to wait for the training to be over, he sat on a low wall made of rock so old it had been polished by the elements into something smooth and comfortable, almost like sculpted marble, just dirtier and less- well, fancy.

A gush of air blew from behind him, messing up his hair, he closed his eyes against the rebellious strands as he tried to comb them with his fingers.

There was a growl, faint but clearly recognisable, menacing and aggressive, then he heard the sound of metal against metal and a startled shout, Eskel’s voice.

He opened his eyes, Geralt was pinning Eskel to the ground, fangs bared and dangerously close to the other’s neck, their swords the only thing keeping them apart, slowly sliding against each other in a violent, cacophonous screech.

It was just an instant before the other wolves were on them, Vesimir and Lambert pulling Geralt away as Ciri and Coen watched in horror, Aiden with an amused glint in his eyes.

Geralt fought back, snarling and spouting at Eskel, who retreated, getting back up on his feet and away from the other witcher, shooting Jaskier a glance. Geralt followed his gaze to the bard and growled in frustration before freeing himself from Vesimir’s and Lambert’s hold to quickly disappear into the keep.

Lambert stalked towards him, his face turned into a frown deeper and angrier than usual.

“I told you to take a fucking bath.”

The sound of Aiden’s laugh sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine as he looked back at the dark entrance of the keep, wondering exactly what had just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapters will probably be delayed as I'm moving to Glasgow! Scottish readers make some noise!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this first chapter! Let me know any of your thoughts in the comments or on twitter @PernillaWrites :3 I don't mind chatting, and who knows, maybe you'll give me my next fic idea!


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